


Nowhere in the world I'd rather be

by Ataleofterror



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ataleofterror/pseuds/Ataleofterror
Summary: This is just pure smut.Solomon Tozer is feeling sexually frustrated. Hickey is here to help.Fill for my "Nowhere in the world I'd rather be" square on the Terror bingo.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Nowhere in the world I'd rather be

The night before Solomon Tozer is due to ship out on The Terror in an attempt to discover the Northwest Passage, he takes a final evening stroll with Miss Elizabeth Shaw. He has designs on making her Mrs. Tozer, although she’s a hard one to persuade. She has twice now rejected his proposals. He tries his luck a third time: “Won’t you marry me, Elizabeth?” he says, in a rare moment of earnestness. “Ask me again in two years, when you’re back on dry land. I’ve no wish to be a sea widow before I’m a wife,” she scolds, kissing him on the cheek. “I have a gift for you,” she says, pulling something from her purse. “Something to remember me by,” she says, extracting a red ribbon doused in her finest evening perfume.  
*  
Tozer clutches onto the memory of that final evening as he holds this same ribbon in his hand as he frigs himself as silently as possible in his hammock as the other men snore around him. A faint scent still lingers on the material; a distinctly feminine scent amidst the stink of unwashed men in close quarters, all piss, sweat, and other excretions.  
A year he’s been at sea and this last vestige of his life on dry land is fading like an ephemera. The harder he tries to recall her scent, the more elusive it becomes. He rubs himself too hard, willing himself to ejaculate and for it to be over. The thought of her milky white thighs, and what lies between them, sends him to completion. He feels a brief moment of elation and lets out a sigh before snapping back to the reality of his situation: frigging himself under a rough woollen blanket just feet from several other men in the middle of a great big freezing nowhere. 

He wipes himself off with a handkerchief and falls into a disturbed sleep, tormented by the thought of auburn hair and pearlescent skin once again. The soft skin of her hands in place of his own rough, calloused ones. He would trade all the glory of the discovery of the Northwest Passage for five minutes with her again, and her delicate hands, and what he might do with them. He wakes before the first watch is called, irritated at the inevitability of being hard again. He tugs himself off, making sure the other men are still asleep, to the thought of her breast in his mouth.

It has become a habit as frequent as the change of the watch. He barely takes pleasure in the act any more, but he is compelled nonetheless. He is almost constantly in various stages of erection, except for a few all-too-brief minutes after ejaculating. He is sick with want. It is so long since he has been touched. He keeps the ribbon in his pocket at all times, fingering it in idle moments. None of the other men know about the ribbon. He guards it jealously, like a secret.  
He rises from his bunk to go the privy for a piss and to clean himself off after his nocturnal activities. This is the one moment of relative privacy a man can expect on a ship such as this. He is angered to see the man called Hickey already there. 

“You’re up early Sergeant,” he says. 

“As are you,” he replies. Suspiciously so, he thinks. He has noticed Hickey sneaking in and out at odd times during the night. An assignation, perhaps. He wouldn’t put it past the man; he has all manner of strange ways about him and sticks out in a way only a man who isn’t used to the rigours of life at sea could. It wouldn’t surprise Tozer if this was another way in which he subverted the status quo. 

“That’s a dainty thing for a Marine,” he says, and Tozer is embarrassed to see the end of the ribbon trailing out of his pocket. “Did your sweetheart give it to you?” he says mockingly. 

“I’d like to take a piss now, if that’s alright with you, as you seem to be finished, Hickey.” Hickey bows mockingly and Tozer shoves past him.  
Again begins another day of repetition and constant, grinding frustration. They are stuck in the ice and it’s too cold to venture out above deck for too long. Tozer is used to being in close quarters with other men, but he’s driven demented with lust and goes in search of some relative privacy in the lower decks. Everywhere else is crawling with men.

He ventures down to the hold and finds a corner for a quick, efficient wank behind a crate in the dark, narrow end of the hold. He puts one hand against the bulkhead to steady himself, the other on his cock, the red ribbon interlaced in his fingers. He has just begun to aggressively rub himself when he hears a light tread of footsteps behind.

“Who’s goes there?” he says, stopping but keeping his hand on his prick, orgasm beginning to brew deep in his stomach.

“Pardon me,” a quiet voice says. He doesn’t recognise it at first.

“I didn’t realise anyone else was down here.” Hickey. Tozer can almost hear the smirk on his face. He does not turn around.

“Piss off,” Tozer says, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps.

“Are you thinking about the girl that gave you that ribbon?” he asks softly.

“I told you to piss off,” Tozer says again, impatient, the tension in his body building at this unexpected pause. He’s no longer used to waiting. Release is his only goal now that has only himself to think of.

“Are you thinking of her soft warm cunny, hmm?” He hears Hickey approaching closer. Oh God. Tozer feels a further rush of blood to his cock in spite of himself. He feels like an animal. 

“I’m warning you, Hickey,” he grunts, “piss off or I’ll report you.”

“For what? You’re the one with your hands down your drawers.” Bastard.

“You forget your place, Hickey,” he says weakly.

“Would you like to know what I’d do? If I was her.” 

“Fuck off, NOW!” Tozer shouts. Hickey does not move.

“If I were her… first, I’d get down on my knees.” He hears Hickey take a few steps towards him. He doesn’t object this time.

“I’d take take your prick in my hand, and I’d run my finger along underneath, ever so slowly, just to give you a shiver.” 

Tozer does indeed shiver and starts stroking himself again tentatively.

“I’d rub my thumb across your piss-hole, already leaking with anticipation.”

“Go on,” Tozer says quietly, breathing heavily.

“Then I’d lick the salt off you.” He stops again.

“Go on,” Tozer says more impatiently. The staccato manner in which he is speaking is maddening, deliberately so.

“Then I’d take you in my mouth.” Hickey stops and takes a few steps nearer to him. Tozer almost thinks he can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“GO ON,” he says, not caring how loud he is this time. At this moment his whole world has shrunk to only him and Hickey’s disembodied voice.  
“…all the way in, and I’d suck.”

Tozer has dropped all pretence and is now stroking himself with wild abandon, other hand pressed hard up against the bulkhead.

“Then I’d stop,” Hickey says. Tozer continues, feels like his eyes are starting to roll back in his head. 

“Stop,” he orders Tozer, who reluctantly complies.

“Good things come to those who wait, Mr Tozer,” he says, altogether too pleased with himself. 

Tozer tries to slow his breath to stop himself coming right away. He is on the cusp and it is exquisite torture. He feels every vein in his body pumping blood down to his cock. He’s afraid to move a millimetre in case he sends himself over the edge and disobeys Hickey’s order.

“Then,” Hickey continues, as if he hadn’t stopped at all. Tozer throws his head back as he feels himself seconds away from completion. 

“Just when I think I’ve driven you as mad as I can, I’d take you in my mouth again, back and forth and back and forth as fast as I could until I’d come over all dizzy,” he stops again. All that can be heard is Tozer’s racing breath.

“Say it,” he begs. “Say it, PLEASE,” and he no longer cares if he’s humiliating himself. The most important thing in the world is Hickey’s voice.

“And then, suddenly, you’d hold your breath, sharp, and I’d feel your stones tighten. I’d keep going until I tasted you, hot and wet in the back of my throat, your hands pulling my hair, thrusting deep, one, two, three, four, so many times you feel you haven’t got a drop left in you.”

Tozer shamelessly lets out a moan from deep inside him as he comes in his hand, the release deeper and longer than anything he’s been able to give himself. He has stars in his eyes when he opens them. He feels his pulse beating wildly in his groin. There is no sound except for his heavy breaths. He holds his spent cock lamely in his spunk-filled hand. He dare not turn around. A minute passes and he’s not sure if Hickey is even still there, until he hears him strike a match and smells a cigarette.

“That’s what I would do,” Hickey says matter-of-factly as Tozer hears his footsteps retreat.

“Not a word, Hickey,” he shouts after him. 

“About what?” Hickey replies laconically, as he disappears up the ladder.


End file.
